Understanding
by Micisuewho
Summary: Iris finds out about Barry's secret identity as The Flash.
1. Chapter 1

Shock. I'm almost certain that I'm in shock. I know the feeling. It's happened before, and it's happening now with reason.

I ran home after I saw it happen. I got stuck at the scene of the chaos where another mystery bad guy had attacked innocent people, and a red blur of electric speed ran past me. I knew exactly who it was. The Flash. "Ralph", or whatever. It was nothing unusual. It wasn't something crazy, something I'd never seen before. That wasn't what sent me into this state of complete and utter shock. I'm in shock because he stopped running, and I noticed something. Cuts on the back of his neck. Char on his suit. Ash in his hair, and finally, _no mask_. Naturally, I was curious. Maybe I'd finally discover who was behind it. Dumb of me to think that he wouldn't do the face shake blur thing again to make sure his identity remained a secret, right? Dumb of me to think I might actually find out. Dumb.

But, then he looked my way. Intentionally? I don't know, but I certainly didn't expect what I saw.. Or maybe I did.. I don't know. But I'm in shock, no less.

"Iris?!" he shouts, from the doorway. I keep walking. I've been walking around the house. I thought I might need to sit down, but I couldn't when I tried. I just need to keep walking, breathing, processing, panicking.

He spots me in the kitchen, pacing back and forth. I pause and look at him for only a second. He's still wearing his suit. Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe._

"You're the Flash.." I point at him, speaking too fast. "You're.. you're him. Of course you're him. That makes sense, right? Struck by lightning. In a coma for nine months. Makes sense, right? You're the Flash. Of course, you're the flash. Makes… sense." I keep rambling like that to myself, desperately trying to process, waiting for my head to explode, and maybe the rest of me too.

"Iris, I—"

"Oh god. Oh god I spoke to you. About you. Face to face, I spoke to you as you not knowing it was you and you pretended all was well. What a joke. Silly Iris. Clueless Iris."

"No, I—"

"I _flirted _with you, didn't I? I had this weird crush on you. I was with Eddie. You were on my three list. Oh god. _You were on my three list.._ At least I can take you off that now. Here you are. I've already got you. You're already all mine. Guy of my dreams. All in one piece." I look him up and down. "Maybe a little dented, but still one piece. Awesome." Only half of that was sarcasm.

"Iris—"

"What the _hell_, Barry?" I can't stop talking. Will I ever stop talking? "What the hell?! I was believing in you. I put so much faith in you. _You, _Barry. Not The Flash. Not some alter ego. _You_." I think about every moment he masqueraded as "Barry Allen", the guy who didn't believe in The Flash. "Barry Allen", the guy who spent his whole life searching for proof of the thing that killed his Mom, and then all of the sudden shut down the thought of it. "Barry Allen", the guy who would never lie to "Iris West", the woman who put all her faith in Barry Allen. "You _lied to me._" I pause, coming down from my panic, and moving towards anger, frustration, bitterness, but mostly _pain _and _hurt _and sadness. "You _tricked _me." He isn't trying to defend himself now. He won't look me in the eye. One tear rolls off his cheek and splashes on the floor. Mine follow shortly afterward. "Why?" I speak in a broken voice. He sways back and forth on his feet for a moment, not moving his hands, not shrugging, not trying to make excuses, but shaking his head like he's softly refusing the current situation, and the pain and confusion that accompany it. I mimic his actions and slightly shake mine. Finally, his eyes move up, trying desperately to meet mine, hesitating before reaching for my chin, then my nose, and then my eyes.

"I wanted to tell you." he says, his lower lip quivering. His eyes are glossy. I watch him as he moves his tongue and lips around to stretch out his mouth to stop himself from crying, averting his eyes a few times and then trying to regain focus. I want to lash out. Ignore him. Be angry, and beat on his chest until we both can't take it anymore. But I want him to speak. I want to hear his reasons. "I never wanted to keep anything from you." Every sentence is stretched and lingering. He wants his words to stick. He wants me to understand, and I know that. I'm trying to. "Joe told me not to say anything, and I—"

"My Dad knows?" I say. Then I think again. "You're blaming my Dad?" I shouldn't have interrupted him.

"No—that's not what I—I agreed with him.." He pauses, taking a breath in, rubbing his eyes and biting his lip. "At first." he adds. "But the more I spoke to you, knowing what I was hiding, the more we hung out, the longer the lie went on, I was.. burdened with this overwhelming guilt and I didn't want to hide it anymore, I—I couldn't." His eyes are pleading with me. _I'm trying to understand. I'm trying._ "And I tried to tell you. I kept trying to tell you, _wanting _to tell you, but I—I got scared. Scared that you would be angry. Scared that you would hate me, that we would stop talking, that I would lose you, and I _couldn't _lose you, Iris. I can't lose you." He repeats his last sentence under his breath, and shakes his head again. He takes a step toward me, and without meaning to, I flinch, breaking eye contact. He steps back again. "But there's no real excuse for that, and I'm sorry." His gaze burns through me, sincere, desperate. "I'm so sorry." I still haven't looked back at him. It feels mean, but I'm still upset. I'm still hurt, and there are a thousand different thoughts running through my head that I can't shake. One in particular.

"And loving me? Was that a lie too?" It's a stupid thought. I can _feel _his confusion.

"What?"

"Do you really love me, or was that just another trick you could throw at me?" I feel ridiculous. This makes no sense, and I know it doesn't, but I'm angry. I'm upset. I'm hurt. I don't know what I'm saying.

"What? No, Iris. That's—That has nothing to do with it. What are you—"

"Because that's not love, Barry. That's not love. You don't say you love someone, and then lie to them about half your life."

"Iris, wait, that's—"

"You're my best friend, Barry! I tell you _everything, _you used to tell me everything too, but maybe you don't love me enough. Maybe I'm just delusional."

"Iris, stop! That's insane. I love you! I always have. That hasn't changed, and it never will." I know. I know that. I don't know what I'm saying, but I can't stop.

"Are you sure? Because I don't know, maybe you don't love me as much as you thought you did." One, two, three quick steps toward me, and his hands are on either side of my face, and his lips are on mine. I get my chance to beat on his chest, but it isn't as much relief as I'd hoped for. He pulls away when I do, but then I stop. My eyes soften, my shoulders relax. My fists loosen. "You've changed quite a bit, haven't you? The Flash made you pretty bold." I say, and it's true. He's never done anything without knowing he has my full permission, not that he didn't. He probably saw that, too. It's not like I actually didn't want him to kiss me. I'd much rather he did. I don't want to think about anything else anymore. I just want to be with him. His breath lingering on mine. We stare at each other for a few more moments.

"You can be mad at me all you want, but don't ever doubt that I love you." he says quietly.

I look him up and down, trying to decide if I have anything left to say. ".. I—" I begin, almost shouting, but he cuts me off again with his mouth against mine. It's a good thing he did too because I have no real idea what I was going to yell at him about. I throw my arms around his neck. I have all the answers I need. He didn't tell me because he couldn't. I can't try to process it anymore. I can't overthink it. It's not really that difficult to grasp, and as he kisses me, I feel myself letting go. Barry hasn't changed that much. He's still Barry. He's still kind, and selfless even in his most selfish moments, and true, and compassionate, honest in spite of everything, and real. He loves me. That's real. Everything else may be confusing, but Barry is still Barry and he still loves me.

My feet aren't on the ground anymore. His arms are fully around my waist and lifting me up to his level, kissing me hard and frantic, and passionate. I run my fingers through his hair. The cuts on his neck are gone, his skin is smooth and his hair is soft and slips through my fingers like sand. His arms tighten more and more as he kisses me, biting at my lips and breathing in what he can. There is a gust of wind on my back and my hair is blown in front of my face, and in an impulse I pull away, widening my eyes and looking around. He took us to his bedroom. He _ran _us here. He lifts one of his hands and moves my hair out of my face.

"Wha- I-" I begin, but he pulls me back in again and crashes his lips to mine. He pulls at my shirt and I let him, allowing it to slide off of my body, and land on the floor. Then he gently lays me down on the bed, kissing me softer now than before and moving his mouth down my neck and chest. I close my eyes, letting go.

_I understand. I love you too._


	2. Chapter 2

I haven't felt this way before now. The way Barry looks at me makes me feel like something sacred, and of value. It isn't that I've never felt valued before. I have, but I haven't noticed, until now, that _his_ expression is something different. It's so much more than just value.

I knew he cared about me. I've always known that. He's my best friend, we can't stay away from each other for more than a day or so. Even when we're angry each other, our stubbornness keeps us apart longer than our actual feelings do.

Since I woke up to the tickling sensation of his breath on the back of my neck, I've been talking to him about everything. Specifically, about the previous night, when he held me and touched me and kissed me, begging me to understand that there is nothing and no one he could ever love more. I traced lines on his face with my fingertips over the bridge of his nose, and his forehead, his cheeks and his mouth.

I never kissed him because I wanted to hear him speak. I don't think I could ever get tired of listening to him speak about _anything_. I make jokes about not being able to understand him when he talks about science, but the truth is that I could listen to him recite the dictionary without ever getting bored.

There's an invisible thread from his gaze to mine that pulls us closer and closer every second, but still parted enough to murmur to each other. He rambles on about the perfection of the moment, wishing it would never end. I trace his smile with my fingers again and he smiles bigger when my thumb reaches the corner of his mouth. The thread pulls us closer.

His hand is moving up and down my side, caressing my thigh and waist. His other arm supports his head. Occasionally, he'll make a joke. He'll tell me he just wanted to see me smile, and he'll reach up to touch mine as well. The thread has us so close now that I can feel him forming his words with my mouth. I could kiss him now, if I wanted to, but I don't yet.

He closes his eyes and speaks, letting my breath scramble his sentences until the soundest phrases make no sense. I watch him curl his lips up to reach for mine, but I don't give him what he wants.

My teasing is becoming frustrating to him, and I can't help but love that feeling. The feeling that he thirsts for my kiss, and becomes frustrated when he can't have it. His hand stops caressing my side and rests at my hip. His fingers tighten and he tries to pulls me closer, but I inch away, trying to hold back threatening laughter, and failing miserably. He mutters my name, a combination of desire and disgruntlement.

"I'm going downstairs for breakfast" I say against the side of his mouth, pushing on his chest and moving closer to the edge of the bed. He tells me not to go, but I push some more, and some more, unable to keep myself from giggling like a child.

I push away from him and he moves closer to me until we're both nearly falling off of the bed. I can't control my laughter at all anymore. His hands are grabbing at my waist and his smile hovers as close as it can above mine.

Then my arms are flailing and so are his. I try to grab him for balance, but he's less balanced than I am. He speeds up, moving underneath me to keep my body from hitting the ground any harder than it needs to. We hit the ground with a "thud" on top of one another, a thin sheet corner sandwiched between our half naked bodies. He managed to make it underneath me fast enough to break my fall. Half a second after I realize we've fallen off the bed, I notice that he made himself my personal cushion, and stare at him, blood rushing to my face. He gapes at my parted lips and holds both of my arms lightly in his hand. Seconds pass, another moment we both wish we could freeze.

I chuckle. He chuckles too, and then we're both laughing so hard we can hardly catch our breath. I roll onto my back on the floor next to him, grabbing at my aching ribcage.

When the laughter stops, my sights linger on the ceiling, but I know that he is looking at me again.

I let some time pass. "I really am hungry." I look at him and sigh.

"Breakfast can wait a little longer." he says, throwing himself on top of me again and pressing his lips against my collar bone.

_Short WestAllen one shot about the morning after. Enjoy! _


End file.
